Murder, in itself, was horrifying to his people. If it really was murder. He cocked an eyebrow, hearing faint laughter from inside. His niece, White Otter, probably. The girl was always bubbling and laughing, even when taking care of her siblings: Slender Bark, Little Shell, Two Birds, and Sea Rice.
If Winged Blackbird, or one of his warriors, had killed Red Knot, it wasn’t murder, but war. A tactical move in the deadly game played by the Weroances and the Ma manatowick. Were that the case—and Nine Killer wished desperately that he could believe it—the response would be simple: he needed but marshal his warriors, slip his forces into White Stake territory, and extract revenge. If he escaped without significant losses, and managed to blunt Winged Blackbird’s inevitable counterattack, then the equilibrium would have been maintained in the age old manner.
But what if that was what he was supposed to believe? What if Winged Blackbird hadn’t killed Red Knot?
Then my raid will sting Corn Hunter into a crazy rage. He’ll lose all of his sense and throw everything he’s got at us. The last time that had happened, it had taken every warrior in the Independent villages to stem the attacks.
Mine Killer rubbed the back of his neck. Three Myrtle
Village wouldn’t join them, not until an apology had been made to Black Spike. The careful balance between the Independent villages had been upset, and now wobbled about like a wounded warrior struck upon the head.
Perhaps that had been the plan from the beginning. Nine Killer tucked his arms tightly under his feather cloak. Throughout his life, the Independent villages had been as constant as the tides. Petty squabbles had been solved by select delegates from the other villages, driven by the ever-present need for unity against the growing influence of the Mamanatowick.
Red Knot’s murder played right into Water Snake’s hand, the first great crack in the alliance that had stymied him to the north. But was he this sophisticated? How could he have orchestrated such a subtle and effective strike? He would have had to know precisely when Red Knot would be on the trail to Oyster Shell Landing, and how to kill her.
Nine Killer stiffened, a wind colder than that of the night freezing his soul. He would have to have someone here, a traitor in Flat Pearl Village, to accomplish it.
If… If Water Snake was the key to this. If, however, Copper Thunder was responsible, the murder made a great deal more sense. With his many warriors, the Great Tayac had the opportunity, as well as the means to have the girl followed and ambushed. But his marriage to Red Knot gave him access to the Independent villages. He was getting everything—and with a minimum of risk. Sort it out as he might, Nine Killer saw no advantage accruing to Copper Thunder by killing Red Knot.
Nine Killer smiled grimly into the night. Too bad he couldn’t blame Copper Thunder. How pleasing it would be to break a war club across the Great Tayac’s teeth!
He bent his head back to stare at the dark sky. Every now and then the wind brought him the scent of wood smoke, teasing him with images of sitting inside, warm and cheery by the fire. It had been at least a week since he’d seen his wife, White Star. Normally, he’d be inside her long house on a night like this. He’d be playing with his sons Rabbit, Lance, and Cricket, and swapping lies with his brother-in-law and old friend, Half Moon. Because of his friendship with Half Moon, he’d married White Star, and, over the years, they had come to love each other.
Later, when you’ve wrestled your way through this. And that left him with the final, and most likely, solution to the problem: Maybe, as a girl, Red Knot had promised High Fox she would marry him; but life changed when a girl became a woman—as it did when a boy went through the Blackening death during the Huskanaw. Perhaps Red Knot had run off that morning to tell High Fox that she was going to marry Copper Thunder. High Fox couldn’t accept that, and enraged, he killed her.
That made the most sense. He had known where she would be. His tracks led to the girl’s body. Flat Willow had seen him, talked to him. What more proof did they need?
But Nine Killer knew well that if he went to claim High Fox, Black Spike would resist. If he attacked, the alliance would split as surely as if hacked apart with a stone-bit ted ax.
It was only a matter of time before honor would compel Hunting Hawk to act. He was sure of it. Her granddaughter had been murdered, and no matter the cost, such a thing could not be allowed to pass uncontested.
Nine Killer looked southward, beyond the palisade through the darkness. There, three days’ hard run across ridge, forest, and stream, the Water Snake lay coiled in his lair, his head raised to this same cold wind that blew the smell of destruction to Nine Killer’s keen nostrils. If war broke out between Flat Pearl and Three Myrtle, the